by Tim Kizer
Had Sam and Jeff added their new bodies’ names to the list of account signatories, individuals authorized to withdraw money from the account and sign checks?
They probably had, but they didn’t need to do it because offshore banks allowed their clients to withdraw money via online wire transfers.
Some if not most of the transfers would go to the accounts opened in Sam’s and Jeff’s new names.
He needed to place the Phillipses’ offshore account under surveillance. The Cayman Islands were a foreign country, so he would have to ask the FBI to do it.
Mark faxed a letter to the Dallas FBI office requesting that they place the Phillipses’ offshore account under surveillance. In the letter, he wrote that the account belonged to one of the perpetrators of the home invasion that had taken place on November 30 of this year (the robbers had made off with four hundred thousand dollars in cash and jewelry). At seven o’clock, Mark called Broder and told him that the FBI might question him about the money he had paid to New Horizons.
“Don’t tell them we talked about New Horizons,” Mark said. “Don’t mention my name at all.”
“All right.”
“Don’t tell them that your son’s consciousness was transferred to Taylor Cowley’s body.” He paused. “I’m the only cop who knows that.”
“What can I tell them?”
“Tell them that New Horizons promised to cure your son and that the treatment didn’t work.”
“Does anyone else besides us know that we talked about New Horizons?”
“No.”
Chapter 51
1
If Broder told Sam and Jeff that one of his friends wanted to use their services, would they agree to meet with that friend?
Most likely, they would.
Would only one of them come or would they come together? He had to assume that they’d come together and that they’d be armed.
Could he handle two armed men alone? It would be nice to have help, but he had no one to turn to for assistance because he was going to kill these bastards not arrest them.
Where should they meet?
His parents’ lake house would be a perfect place, but unfortunately it didn’t look like a rich man’s dwelling. They might sense something was fishy.
What about New Horizons’ office in Dallas?
He could interrogate them right in their office and kill them afterwards. He’d wear disguise and use a gun silencer. They should meet on a Saturday, when there were few people in the building.
What if they didn’t admit that they were Jeff and Sam?
He didn’t really need their admission. Whoever came to the meeting must be Jeff and Sam.
2
“What can I do for you?” Broder said.
“I need you to send Jake Ford an email saying that one of your friends wants to use their services and is willing to pay them twenty million dollars.”
Broder shook his head. “I can’t do that.”
“Why?”
Broder looked toward the window, beyond which the high-rise across the street sparkled in the morning sunlight. “I’ve already done a lot for you, haven’t I?”
“Yes, you have.”
“You said they’re killers. I’d rather not mess with killers.”
“You’re not messing with them. I am.”
“They’ll know I helped you.”
“I’ll make sure they don’t hurt you.”
“How?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
Broder took a sip of coffee from his cup and said, “I can’t help you unless I’m sure they’re not going to murder me or my family.”
Mark couldn’t blame Broder for being concerned about his and his family’s safety. He’d be worried be, too, if he were in Broder’s shoes.
“Okay, I’ll tell you. They’re not going to hurt you or your family because they won’t be alive after I meet them.”
Broder started at him for a long moment, and then said, “Are you going to kill them?”
“They won’t be alive after I meet them, that’s all you need to know, Andrew.”
Broder nodded slowly. “All right. I’ll do it.”
“Tell them that your friend’s daughter has cerebral palsy.”
“Got it.”
Broder turned to his laptop, opened his email, and typed a message, which read: “Dear Jake, a friend of mine would like to use your services. His daughter has cerebral palsy. He’ll pay 20 million. I’m looking forward to hearing from you.”
After Broder sent the email, Mark said, “Call me when they reply.”
“Okay.”
“Now I need you to call Jake and leave a message saying the same thing as the email.”
Broder took his phone. “All right.”
He dialed “Jake’s” number. His call went straight to voice mail, and he left a message.
3
At two-thirty in the afternoon, Agent Aaron Ward of the Dallas FBI office called Mark and said that he had a couple of questions about his request for assistance.
“How long do you want this offshore account to be monitored?”
“Until we capture its owner.”
“Have these people been involved in any other crimes?”
“Most likely they have.”
“Well, that’s all for now, Detective. I’ll keep you posted.”
Chapter 52
1
Agent Ward called again a week later, on January 19. He told Mark that there were two signatories on the Phillipses’ account: Samuel Curtis and Jeffrey Phillips.
“They deposited a little over two million dollars on December fourteenth. On January fourth they received twenty million dollars from Andrew Broder. Do you have any idea what Broder paid them that money for?”
“No, I don’t. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t question Mister Broder until we got Curtis.”
“What about Phillips?”
“Jeff Phillips is dead.”
They had deposited a little over two million in December. They must have made that money using the ritual.
“Have they transferred any money from this account to an American bank?” Mark asked.
“No.”
“Have they made any withdrawals in the last three weeks?”
“No.”
2
Mark took a fake moustache from the box (it was similar to the moustache worn by Tom Selleck in Magnum, P.I. and was made of human hair) and pressed it to his upper lip, looking in the mirror. He was recognizable, but he didn’t think that Sam Curtis, who’d seen him only twice, would be able to recognize him.
It was 8:32 p.m. on Sunday, January 21.
Sam Curtis still hadn’t replied to Broder, and his burner phone was still off.
Mark put the moustache in the box and sat back, his swivel chair creaking under him.
The next full moon was nine days away. The sun would set around seven in the evening on January 30. He was going to arrive at New Horizons’ office at six-thirty p.m.
As Mark opened the top desk drawer, his phone rang. It was Broder.
“Jake has replied to my email,” Broder said. “He wants to know when my friend can meet him.”
“Tell Jake your friend wants to meet him this Saturday at one p.m. in their office in Dallas.”
“Okay. What’s my friend’s name?”
“George… Westman. George Westman.”
“Got it.”
“Thank you very much, Andrew.”
When Mark hung up, he breathed a sigh of relief.
He got them. He got these bastards.
In six days Helen would be avenged.
Forty-five minutes later, Broder called again and said that “Jake” had agreed to meet “his friend” this Saturday at one p.m. in New Horizons’ office in Dallas.
“He’s asking for your phone number,” Broder said.
Mark gave Broder the number of the disposable phone he’d bought eight days earlier.
Chap
ter 53
1
Mark opened the glove box of his rental Mercedes S550 and retrieved the SIG Sauer, which had a silencer on it. He checked the magazine, it was full, put the pistol in his coat pocket, and then looked at himself in the rearview mirror. His moustache was still in place. He slipped on his sunglasses, grabbed his felt hat, and got out of the car.
It was a quarter to one in the afternoon. There were less than a dozen cars in the parking lot; Mark wondered which one of them belonged to Sam and Jeff.
The wind blew around him, flapping his coat, as he walked to the office building. Mark wore his best suit and dress shoes; he’d left his cheap Seiko watch in the car.
Sam Curtis, or maybe it was Jeff Phillips, had phoned him two days ago to confirm the meeting. Half an hour ago, Mark had called Sam and told him that he was on his way.
Mark entered the building, got in the elevator, and rode up to the third floor.
The hallway was as quiet as a tomb. Mark reached New Horizons’ office, drew a deep breath, then opened the door and went in.
There were two people in the room: Sam Curtis and a dark-haired man in his mid-twenties. Mark fought the urge to pull out his gun from and shoot Curtis on the spot.
He was glad he didn’t have to interrogate anyone to find out which one of the two was Sam Curtis.
The other guy must be Jeff Phillips.
“My name’s George Westman,” Mark said. “I’m here to see Jake Ford.”
“I’m Jake Ford.” Sam stood up and shook Mark’s hand. “How are you doing, Mister Westman?”
“I’m fine.” Mark took off his leather gloves and pocketed them. “How are you?”
Sam put a hand on his partner’s back and said, “This is our technician David Fletcher.”
“Nice to meet you, Mister Westman.” Fletcher shook Mark’s hand.
Sam opened the door on the left side of the room. “Please come in.”
He must shoot them right now. He didn’t need to verify that David Fletcher was Jeff Phillips: the guy had to be Jeff Phillips.
He remembered the phrase Tuco said in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly when he shot the one-armed man who came to kill him while he was sitting in a bubble bath: “When you have to shoot, shoot. Don't talk.”
They entered the second room. Mark and Sam sat down on the sofa, and Fletcher took a seat behind a desk.
Although Mark was about to kill two people, he felt very calm.
“I’m pleased to tell you that we can help your daughter, Mister Westman,” Sam said.
“I’m glad to hear that.” Mark reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the pistol, and got up. “Put your hands behind your head, both of you.”
Sam frowned. “What’s going on?”
Fletcher’s right hand disappeared under the desk and emerged moments later holding a pistol. Mark pointed his SIG Sauer at Fletcher and squeezed the trigger twice. The shots were no louder than a handclap. The bullets hit Fletcher in the chest. He dropped the gun, his body went limp, and his head fell forward.
“What the fuck?” Sam shouted, his face twisted in horror. “Why the fuck did you do that?”
“Shut up!”
“Don’t kill me, man,” Sam whined. “What do you want? Please don’t kill me.”
“Do you remember a girl named Helen? You murdered her about a year ago.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She was my daughter.”
“I didn’t murder anyone. Please listen to me.”
“Burn in hell, Edward.”
“I didn’t—”
Before Sam could finish, Mark shot him in the head. Blood splattered on the sofa and the wall behind it. It was a beautiful sight. The bastard who’d murdered his daughter was dead. The fog of pain, anger, and frustration that he’d been living in for the last few months had cleared.
Mark put on his gloves, collected Sam’s and Jeff’s phones and wallets (Jeff’s driver’s license was in the name of Jeremy Farney), and left the office.
2
The murders of Sam Curtis and Jeremy Farney were never solved.
In February, Mark learned that Jeff Phillips’s name had been removed from the list of signatories of the Phillipses’ offshore bank account and Jeremy Farney’s name had been added to it.
On February 20, Joan Hinton learned that she was pregnant. She gave birth to a boy on November 7.
On July 10, the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals overturned Edward Phillips’s conviction. The Dallas County District Attorney decided not to retry him.
The twenty-two million dollars in the offshore account was inherited by the parents of Sam Curtis and Jeremy Farney.
Mark Hinton and Edward Phillips remain friends to this day.
Edward still has nightmares about the death row block.
THE END
Other titles by Tim Kizer
Days of Vengeance, horror novel
The Vanished, suspense novel
Mania, suspense novel
Spellbound, suspense novel
The Mindbender, suspense novel
THE VANISHED
Description
On May 6, five-year-old Annie Miller goes missing in a park. On May 7, her father, David Miller, fails a lie detector test. On May 9, during a hypnosis session, David confesses to murdering his daughter and gives the police the location of the knife he used to kill her. The knife has traces of Annie's blood and David's fingerprints all over it.
Two weeks later, a man named Ben calls David and tells him Annie's alive. Ben is willing to let the girl go, but first David has to do something for him—something that would land David in prison for the rest of his life.
Chapter 1
1
“Annie!” David Miller took off his sunglasses and looked up and down the drive aisle.
He was in a great mood, but that was about to change. Today was the day he would report his daughter missing. And in seventy-two hours he would confess to killing her.
“Annie!”
Annie wasn’t in the second aisle, either.
He crossed the parking lot and stepped onto the grass, his eyes sweeping the park. “Annie! Annie!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.
His daughter was nowhere in sight. A stab of fear pierced him.
Where was she?
Perhaps she had wandered off after a stray cat or a butterfly or a squirrel.
In the back of his mind, a voice whispered: Annie’s been kidnapped, and you’ll never see her again.
David supposed it was normal. He was not in a panic. He was sure most, if not all, parents had thoughts like these when they lost sight of their young children in a public place.
Absorbed in thought, he walked over to the path running parallel to the parking lot.
How long had Annie been out of his sight before he got out of the car?
She had stepped out of the car when he switched off the engine. After he pulled the key from the ignition, he checked his cellphone for messages. Then he opened the door, dropped the phone on the floor, picked it up, and got out of the car.
About twenty seconds. How far could she have gone in twenty seconds? Fifteen, maybe twenty yards.
He had spent about twenty seconds checking the parking lot aisles, so she could be as far as forty yards from his car.
David wiped the sweat from his brow with his hand. His anxiety grew by the second.
She was probably not too far away. She couldn’t hear him because she was having a convulsive seizure. What if she had been bitten by a snake? Were there poisonous snakes in Ardmore Park?
To find a child one had to think like a child. Where would he go if he were Annie?
The playground. That was her favorite place in the park.
David rushed to the playground and searched it thoroughly, checking every structure and looking into every slide tube. When he was finished, his head throbbed with panic.
Standing at the edge of the playground, he yelled his daughter’s name twic
e.
She’s been kidnapped. She’s been kidnapped. She’s been kidnapped.
The dreadful thought raced through his mind over and over.
David ran over to the pavilion and walked through it from end to end, scanning the tables and the floor. Annie wasn’t there. Calling his daughter’s name, he circled the pavilion.
No Annie.
His stomach churned with sickness.
David went to the pond, which was near the pavilion, and didn’t find Annie there, either. As he stood wondering where Annie could be, he saw a woman in pink leggings and a white T-shirt twenty yards away, who was strolling along the path, watching her Maltese playing on the grass. Cursing himself for not doing it earlier, David pulled his wallet from his jeans pocket, extracted Annie’s photo from it, and approached the woman.
“Excuse me, have you seen this girl?” David showed Annie’s picture to the woman. “She’s wearing a white dress with strawberries on it. Red strawberries.”
The woman studied the photo for a few seconds, and said, “No, I haven’t seen her. What happened? Is she your daughter?”
David nodded. “Yes. I… I can’t find her.”
“Oh my God! I’m sorry. I hope you find her.”
“Thank you.”
David slowly turned full circle, surveying the park.
He would have been so happy to spot a white dress with strawberries on it. He would have been ecstatic.
Maybe she was playing hide-and-seek with him?
It was possible. Annie liked to play hide-and-seek. She had never played hide-and-seek with him in Ardmore Park before, but there was a first time for everything.
He had searched the playground. He had searched the pavilion.
He hadn’t checked the restrooms.
David ran to the restrooms and called Annie’s name, standing at the entrance to the women’s room. Then he asked if there was anyone inside. Having received no response, David went into the room and checked the stalls. No one. He hurried outside and looked behind the building.